


Soul for My Soul

by internetboyfriends



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Levi's POV, M/M, Multi, Orphans, Violence, attack on titan - Freeform, eruri - Freeform, i don't know maybe not reincarnation, police officer, punkass levi, snk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetboyfriends/pseuds/internetboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I never needed anyone. I never wanted to experience a love that couldn't last. I only wanted to pave my own way toward happiness. Alone.</p>
<p>And then he found me, fucking up an eighteen-year-old perception that I was better off by myself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: About the Author

**Author's Note:**

> Generally, throwing a character's tragic back story, or what have you, into the prologue isn't something I'd go with at all. You know, because plot devices, cliches, giving away the ending (not so much here), and all that jazz. But then I realized the direction I'm taking this in, so I hope you guys can trust me here. I'm trying to write something good and I'm already finding myself pretty attached and into this. For me, that's saying a lot because I'm extremely fickle and my confidence on my writing has gone way down since I haven't done much if it in the last couple of years. But now, I think I'm getting back into the serious swing of things. It just took the right idea to get me there. This time I feel like I know exactly what I'm doing.
> 
> Truthfully, I'm aiming for less of a heavily plot driven story and more of an emotional, coming into one's own type of adventure. I want this to be a story of self-discovery and righting wrongs and becoming new as a person.
> 
> As readers, I hope you enjoy it and I hope I produce something that speaks to you. Genuinely, I do.

Loneliness is a disease.

Loneliness is a chronic illness that begins as a knick in the heart and slowly begins to split and tear and bleed with every painful, adrenaline-filled beat. It turns the soul so cold that it burns all those stupid enough to come into contact with the afflicted subject. It smears frostbite across its victims, gradually leaving them to blacken and break.

And love is a monster. Cruel and tremendously forceful, love is a monster that sinks its fangs deep into the heart and feeds greedily from its nervousness; getting drunk on the adrenaline rush as it rips through the life-sustaining organ where you harbor all of your affections.

More unnerving is that love and loneliness are rivals, competing for your damn soul. If one doesn’t devour you, the other will. Except love can always throw you back up when it’s done with you; regurgitate you like you’re a chunk of bad meat, summoning  loneliness to your being like a shadow that stalks you everywhere you go.

Eventually, one way or another, all of us have to experience these two demonic forces fighting for dominance within you. You get no say in it. They’re unavoidable. Either loneliness wins, eventually shriveling your heart into nothing but a rough black stone, or you give into love and allow its destruction to rip you into oblivion. You learn to accept that it has driven you absolutely crazy and you find comfort and peace in insanity because, if you’re really lucky, you’re not facing it alone. The reason behind your lack of rationality and frantic heartbeats is some other poor soul who is stuck in the exact same rut. You collapse into it together. You get lost in the dizzy, rose-colored mirage that the world is perfect and whole so long as you are together. And, until loneliness returns, ready to dish out revenge, you just might think it’s impossible for anything to tear you apart.

Nobody can be free of this. We are all diseased. We are all tripping over our own feet and struggling with every passing day to tame love in such ways that loneliness cannot be allowed to slip back in.

I knew it back then - back when I had nothing and was nothing - and I know it now. We need love to survive and we don’t have to be lonely.

But back then it wasn’t quite so clear to me. I would learn the hard way; through endless trial and error. I would learn while wanting to tear my hair out as my future unfolded before me and I slowly began to cave in. At that time, to me, loneliness was a friend I had learned to accept when I came to the bitter realization that love - in all its unnerving splendor - had abandoned me the very day I was born. As much as I wanted it, no matter who it was from, I just couldn’t get a grasp on it. My interest in love was a fleeting and fickle thing. Eventually, avoiding it altogether was the only thing I knew to do with it.

With the circumstances of my birth nothing more than a mystery to me, I began this life alone. Wherever I ended up, I was the only person ever on my side and, even then, I was often full of doubt. No one had ever protected me nor were they going to. Still, I had to keep striving. I wanted nothing more than to find my place in this world and I believed, with everything I was, that I would make it.

I just never expected all of the fucked up shit I’d have to go through to make it happen.

Growing up, I was a ward of the state, constantly shuffled around from home to home in a shitty foster program. From my experiences, most of these people were only in it for the tax benefits and couldn’t care less about the children they took in. Some of them had too many children. Some of them didn’t have kids at all. Some were older and filthier than dirt and others were young, clean, prim, and proper. Many of them were broken homes trying to right their wrongs with a “good” deed; yet I never saw how taking in a parent-less child was supposed to un-fuck them up when placed in the midst of something already damaged.

I lived in every kind of home, from shotty urban apartments to pristine rural mansions outside the city. Never once did I consider a single one of them home, regardless of how kind anybody was to me. Never did I find myself feeling any semblance of a connection with the families who had me signed over to them. Perhaps with the exception of once, as a very small child, a bond never formed between myself and another human being.

Some might argue that this was my own fault. Up until I turned eleven, I was a quiet, obedient kid. I helped around my foster family’s homes and did my best to get along with them, even if I couldn’t get close. I would help them with cleaning and meals - especially the family’s with too many kids - and when I wasn’t, I was keeping to myself. I preferred to be alone with a sketchbook or reading material or - if I was particularly lucky - a world map. I liked to take myself exploring beyond the walls of different homes, which always had new smells to get used to and people who didn’t understand my quiet, antisocial demeanor. I wanted to see so much more than the same cycles over and over. I wanted to visit a place where pollution and city lights didn’t mask the stars. I wanted to go somewhere where it never snowed. I wanted to witness oceans, deserts, and meadows.

I was halfway through my eleventh year of life when things started getting seriously fucked up. For ten years, I’d managed to lay low and had dealt with my foster parents as best I could. I knew they couldn’t understand me. I knew they didn’t know enough about me and all the other families I’d been through before. I was never anywhere for very long and the lot of it frustrated me. It fucking pissed me off all the time that these people couldn’t get it. I wanted - _needed_ \- someone to understand. Soon, the loneliness I felt when I realized that they couldn’t turned into a bitter rage. Abandoning my trust for these people, who were constantly filtering in and out of my life, I continued to close myself off. For a time, I even stopped talking altogether.

When I reached twelve, I started getting into fights. I would fight anyone who tripped the wrong wire. Foster siblings, classmates, social workers - anyone. I saw everyone as a threat and I took quick action to protect myself. In no time at all, it became impossible for me to stick with one family for more than a couple of weeks. I was the ultimate problem child and counselors and therapy were shitty wastes of time that left me making no improvements. The more families I ended up with, the more schools I switched, the worse I got. I was boiling over with rage and nobody knew what they could do to help me or if I’d be okay by myself once I hit eighteen and was no longer a part of the system I’d grown up in. Hell, I didn’t even know if I’d make it to eighteen.

By the time I was fifteen, I had come to accept that I was alone and I was never going to be adopted. This was relatively easy information to consume. I had already been stabbed once in a fight. It was a shallow wound for the most part; done with a box cutter. And, for once, it wasn’t my fault. Some of the students in the new school I’d transferred to didn’t take to me too well. They were “creeped out” by the new kid and how little he was. They were threatened by his quietness and bored, narrowed eyes. Keeping my head down didn’t appear to be working for me anymore.

For a time, I tried my damnedest to keep my anger under control. I didn’t want to switch schools for a third time that year, but I wasn’t going to laze around and let a bunch of jerks throw me in a trashcan. So I fought back. I got stabbed. And all that happened to them were two days of suspension and a week of lunch detentions. Because why would these children, with their perfect mommies and perfect daddies and perfect homes, ever need to stab some weird orphan who doesn’t talk and eats lunch by himself? I spent a week in the hospital over a stab wound and got expelled for supposedly instigating the fight. I was never even offered a chance to explain or defend myself.

From there, I knew without a shred of doubt that this world was a disgusting place and I worked to find a single redeeming quality about it. If I had to fight my way there, so be it. If I had to die for no more than a simple taste of a better life, it would be worth it. I just had to know that there was something else out there. I had to know there was more to this world than spite and violence and that even without love, there could still be happiness.

But that was before I had any idea of who I really was and who I would come to be. That was before I ever considered that anyone would find me.

December 25, 2007, by some miracle, I made it to eighteen.

With even more fights under my belt and a title as a lost cause, I was released into the cold world without a single cheer. No well-wishing, no pep talk, no boost of confidence. Not that I wanted any of it. I was ready to not rely on anybody for anything. Unhindered.

Finally, I was on my own; homeless and jobless in the heart of Boston, Massachusetts.

I began my search for work immediately, temporarily crashing in shelters for the night when the snow and the cold became too much for my body to handle. It was difficult. Most people weren’t keen on hiring an eighteen-year-old high school student, fresh out of foster care without a plan.

I get that it wasn’t my smartest move, but I was desperate to get out of that shithole as soon as possible. Plus, I knew I wasn’t going to college unless some random stranger wanted to drop a fat wad of cash in my lap to cover my tuition. So I knew I needed to at least try to finish high school. All issues aside, I was an honors student with straight As and I was so fucking proud of that. The trouble I got myself into never stood in the way of good grades. Had I not had such a bad record of violence and detentions, I probably could have gotten some decent scholarships. Unfortunately, nobody was looking to hand anything over to a shitty brat like me and I accepted my situation for what it was.

When school started back up again, I still hadn’t found any solid work, but I was able to pick up odd jobs here and there for cash. I spent most of it on food, cigarettes, and thrift store clothes and when the shelter was full, I would sneak into my school’s library for the night. At one point, I even made nice with a janitor and he would turn on the showers in the men’s locker room so that I could cleanse myself of the day’s filth. I’d offer him a cigarette as payment and thanks and we would smoke silently together when there was nobody around to expel me or fire him.

To say the least, it was rough. My last several months of school were a nightmare as rumors circulated about my circumstances. I didn’t have any friends and I was trying to graduate without further incident, so I had nobody to defend my case, not even myself. On top of that, I had to become a master of self-control to avoid decking someone in the face or slamming their head into a locker. Their gossip was more or less the truth and so there was no denying it. I obviously didn’t have much, given that I wore the same clothes way too often and had been spotted by classmates numerous times while wandering the streets or reading in laundromats.

I tried my very hardest to ignore their whispers and, as time went on, I was able to tune them out as if they were nothing more than mere radio static.

And then, one day, after months of searching, my luck finally improved. My life was changing and things were looking up for once. The spring brought with it a fresh start; however, I had no idea how drastically my life was going to change. I had no way of knowing that all of my goals and expectations would be so easily shattered or that I would enjoy every damn second of it, including the shittiest parts.

So there you have it. My tragic backstory. A past I grew from, but have not forgotten; mere glimpse at who I was before I was given the confidence to truly discover myself.


	2. I Could Fucking Kill You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support thus far! I know this story is barely getting started, but I'm getting pretty stoked on it now more than ever.  
> I've been writing since about 6AM while tremendous back pain keeps me awake and my friend hogs my bed (talkin' smack because I know she'll never read this lol). So I figured an update was due.
> 
> I'm really looking forward to posting more and I hope that you all enjoy it! Admittedly, I'm a little concerned that it's more fluffy than I intended it to be, but I don't really know how I was going to avoid that to begin with? I like fluff. Fluff is good (I hope). But I'm still working on it, so who knows?

Waking up on the cold, hard floor of a holding cell is not my idea of a good morning. It is most certainly not how one starts a good day. And it definitely does not mean I had a good night. In my case, it means just the opposite, because, in more than five years of landing myself in some pretty nasty fights, I had finally been arrested.

I had gotten a few warnings here and there, but I never beat anyone up too bad and I never started it. Those were a couple of rules I had set for myself and I diligently followed them as best I could. I never went after anyone without a cause. Once I realized, and even accepted, how I was, I put myself through some self-control training and learned when and where to let my fists do the talking. I decided to never go searching for a fight, even if I was genuinely hitting my limit. If some dumb fuck decided to run their mouth at me, call me a name, or try something physical, I’d unleash myself on them right then and there, but I refused to start it. I refused sink to the level of the bullies I’d dealt with so regularly. Albeit, I swore to never go beyond what I had to. I was glad to teach a lesson where one needed to be taught. I’d fight to put filthy animals back in their places. But anything irreparable I did my very best to avoid. I understood I wouldn’t always be able to hold back. The cops in my neighborhood were, by this time, familiar with me after dishing out their warnings with every other nose I broke. Regardless of my reasons, I never lied to them about the situations I had fallen in.

With my luck slowly getting better, I didn’t want to risk my new job. Granted, it wasn’t the greatest job in the world, but it was still better than nothing. The idiot youth that I was underestimated what credentials would be necessary for getting hired should I have actually found work. One place - a coffee shop - was definitely close to offering me a nice position; unfortunately, I didn’t know they’d need identification or a social security card or birth certificate. As far as I had known, I never had any of those things. None that I had ever seen, at least. Of course, I had heard about them and wasn’t completely oblivious as to what those forms meant, though I wasn’t expecting to have to pay for new copies. I didn’t even have an address yet, putting an ID out of the question. Pride was also standing in my way at that time. I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the place I’d desperately run from to tell them I needed those forms of identification after all.

Still, my plans were all coming together, slowly but surely, when I was offered an under-the-table job at a local stripclub. I’ll be the first to admit that a filthy place like that was the last on my list of dream jobs and I never had to sell my body for another person’s entertainment. Instead, I was hired on as a simple barback and extra security. While the bartenders served liquor and the strippers danced, I was tasked with the duty of keeping our supplies stocked and cleaned. All tacky music, boozy stench, and bad dye jobs aside, I enjoyed the work.

Eventually, I found peace in consistency and home in a tiny studio apartment several blocks away. The landlord didn’t trust me one fucking bit, but gave me the place anyway. I not only cleaned the hell out of it, but I always made it a point to pay my rent one week early and eventually, he didn’t mind my presence so much.

But between these two stepping stones in my life, I couldn’t always hold myself back from a fight. So, when I found myself walking into work with a black eye or limping down the hall of my building, neither my co-workers or my landlord bothered to asks questions. It often surprised them at first, yet after a couple of months, they got used to it. Even if I got hurt, I never lost. I always successfully held my own and never took shit from anyone.

Apparently, this time, I had held it too well.

Groggy, I sat up from the filthy cell floor where I’d found home for the night. My head was killing me and the morning excitement around the precinct created a low buzz that resonated off the cement walls, causing a dull throbbing in my skull. Stretching, I cracked my joints and looked around feeling absolutely filthy. I wanted nothing more than a scalding hot shower and the biggest fucking cup of hot black tea I could get my hands on.

Checking the clock on the wall just outside my cell, I realized it was barely past eight in the morning. I had no idea how I would be charged for the assault or when I would be finding out. I didn’t even care anymore. The stupid fuck who landed me there could press charges if he wanted to; take me to court. It didn’t change anything. He deserved the broken jaw I gave him and I would have done it again, given the chance.

I was minding my own business, walking to the grocery store on one of my few days off when this asshole came stumbling out of the gym with his friend and he fucking stepped on me. Instead of being polite and offering any kind of apology, he barked, “Watch it, faggot,” and shoved me out of his way.

I couldn’t just let him walk away from a comment like that. After a failed attempt to verbally reprimand him, my vision went red. When I finally came around, he was on the ground crying while two cops held me back from inflicting any more damage.

Seething, I recall hissing a few curses at everybody, including the douchebag’s friend. The poor guy had no idea what to fucking do. He was floored that someone my size could inflict such damage. Idiot.

In the long run, I think I would much rather find myself spending the night in jail than diminishing into a big fucking crybaby due to getting my ass kicked by a piss poor orphan. Seriously. What a fucking tool.

When my arresting officers loaded me into the back of their car and drove me down the the station, I had calmed down substantially and told them exactly what happened. I had no reason to lie. They didn’t exactly disagree with my irrationality when I told them what that piece of shit had said to me. In fact, they were pretty damn nice about it; only following protocol when the jerkoff said he was pressing charges. I understood. They had to do their job.

Still, that does not make waking up in a filthy cell any more pleasant. I couldn’t stand to think about how many drunks and drug addicts had probably pissed on the walls or puked exactly where I slept. My stomach churned with nausea and I thought I might die. I could only be grateful that I had a cell to myself rather than with the other scum that had probably been swept off the streets that night. Then again, it was probably more for their sake than mine.

Finally, at about twenty after eight, my arresting officer approached my cell. “Morning,” he nodded, drawing in a deep breath through his large nostrils. “Smells like someone had a rough night.”

I cocked my eyebrow at him, but didn’t say a word. I wanted to call him a fucking weirdo, but quickly bit my tongue, realizing that wouldn’t get me anywhere. Initially, he was a nice guy. Strange. But nice. Certainly not one of those dickbag cops in constant need of an ego boost that could only be achieved by taking out their insecurities on the apprehended.

His name was Mike Zacharius and, by now, we were probably getting used to each other. I’ll even go as far as to say that we probably could have been friends if I wasn’t constantly getting myself into trouble - or if I cared any bit about having friends. He had never been cruel to me and always made it a point to listen to my side of the story. His innocent abnormalities, which usually involved smelling things, were accompanied by a strong, nonjudgmental sense of justice. He saw everyone as equals, including me. He was understanding of what sort of personality I was and how my attitude was nothing personal. Instead of letting it get to him like other authority figures had in the past, he adapted and compromised. I considered him a good cop - and honest cop - deserving of respect.

“Anyway, I imagine you’ve thought about what you’ve done and you’re ready to go home?”

“Yeah…” I nodded quietly, thinking it best to watch my mouth this time.

“Well, then. You’re pretty much free to go,” he grinned, unlocking the cell and sliding the barred door open.

I continued to sit for a minute in a shocked silence. Was that it?

“Look, Levi,” he explained with a slight sigh, “This station has seen enough of you to know you’re not a bad kid. But you do need to calm down a little. People are gonna make crappy comments. That can’t be helped. You can’t go hitting them every time they do.”

“Tch… That guy had it coming…” I spat, failing already as that condescending tone echoed through my memory once more.

“Even so, you’re lucky he was talked out of pressing charges. But you did rough him up pretty good.”

“I know. I lost control…” I quietly confessed.

“I just worry that one day, you’re gonna land yourself in a situation that’s more than you can handle. You can’t win all the time. One of these days, you’re gonna end up in some serious trouble if you can’t calm down.”

Knowing the man was right didn’t make accepting it any easier. I was able to relax, somewhat, knowing that I was off the hook this time; however, now a new thought plagued my mind. When would I find myself in a dangerous situation again? I had already been stabbed once and got lucky. When was I going to run out of chances?

“I’m sorry. I’ll try harder…” I promised, staring at my bruised knuckles.

Satisfied for the time being, Officer Zacharius nodded, “Okay, then. Let’s get you out of here.”

Eager to leave, I stood up and did my best to ignore the aching of my bones. My legs and hips hurt like hell, too. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. How’s your hand?”

“Swollen,” I answered, taken aback that he had noticed, “But fine.”

“Good. Try to wrap it when you get home. We should have treated it last night. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine… not that bad, anyway.”

Leading me to the front desk, I looked around the precinct, surprised at how busy it truly was. The halls were lined with officers huddled in groups, running back and forth, showing guests around, booking and releasing the night’s filth, and so on. No wonder my head felt like it was swarmed by bees.

“Nanaba, at reception, will take care of clearing you and then you’re free to go,” the police officer pointed to the desk before offering me a pat on the back. “Take care of yourself, Levi. I don’t wanna bring you back here again.”

I acknowledged him with a nod and he went the opposite direction.

Assuming the delicate-looking creature seated behind the front desk was the person I was supposed to be talking to, I approached with caution and waited my turn while she answered a phone call. She was probably about my size and only a little bit older. Her blond hair was styled out of her eyes and her makeup-less skin was flawless with its natural glow. She was somewhat ethereal in appearance, looking neither male nor female, but beautiful all the same. I watched her smile gently, gaze just passing over my shoulder to meet Mike’s eyes while she responded to a voice on the other end of the phone line. He nodded toward her affectionately while joining a group of his fellow officers; towering above them all. I sensed something special and pure between the two and momentarily wondered what that felt like.

Huddled into the group, another tall figure caught my eye as he immediately engaged in conversation with the man who had just let me off the hook. Though not quite as tall, I noticed that he commanded the attention of his peers when he spoke. His sharp features softened in all the right places and he held himself confidently. He was poised beautifully enough that a golden aura seemed to cling to him as if there were a light shining from within his center.

There was something distracting about him, I very quickly realized. Even with their matching uniforms, he stood out like a beacon. Familiarity rapidly bubbled inside of me and I wondered where it was I’d seen such golden hair and lively cobalt eyes.

The officer, barely an inch or two shorter than Zacharius, must have caught onto my staring as he turned his bright gaze toward me. For the moment that our eyes met, I felt an uncomfortable twinge in my heart. I didn’t want him to look at me. I didn’t want him to know I existed, but I couldn’t break my stare. Catching on, his lips spread into an obnoxious grin, forcing me to finally look away before I got lost in this vortex that had become him.

_What the fuck was that about?_ I wondered to myself, attempting to shake off the awkward feeling biting at my heart. Goosebumps raced up my arms. The hair on the nape of my neck stood on end. Part of me felt insulted and I simply wanted to escape any and all surroundings which contained him. _Am I fucking funny to him?_

Ultimately, I felt disrespected. Trash-talked by a single look.

Feeling like I might go after him, I was quickly interrupted from my racing thoughts. Nanaba called my name just before I made my move and I snapped my attention toward her.

“Levi, right?” she queried, sliding some paperwork my way. In my daze, I had failed to notice she was no longer on the phone. “I’ll just need you to sign by the ‘X’ confirming that we’ve given your things back to you.

“Th-thanks…” my voice trembled. I avoided eye contact with her, keeping myself focused on my things as she placed them in front of me.

I did as asked, stuffing my wallet and my keys into my back pocket.

Without another moment to spare, I got the fuck out of the precinct as quickly as humanly possible, still feeling those cool blue stranger’s eyes burning holes through my skin.

I wasn’t sure what that damn feeling I had experienced was, but one thing was certain - I never fucking wanted to feel it again. I would kill him before he ever looked at me like that a second time.

Unfortunately, no matter what I told myself, I knew my luck, alongside my self-control, were fragile things that could not hold out forever.


	3. Get Out of My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the previous two, but it happens, I guess?  
> Thank you so much for your kind words thus far! This story is only just getting started, so I hope you continue to enjoy it as we go along!

I thought about that smile for weeks, allowing it to plague my thoughts and haunt my dreams.

Every time another person looked in my direction, I’d quickly snap my attention toward them as if paranoid that those peculiar, crystalline spheres would be right in front of me. Whether at work or minding my own in a cafe, I made it a point to hide from well-groomed blonds. I couldn’t risk seeing him again. I wasn’t sure what I would do if I did.

None of it even made sense to me. My paranoia was getting the best of me and there was no reason for it. The likelihood that he patrolled my neighborhood at all was pretty slim or I’m sure I would have had a run-in with him on the streets thanks to my short fuse. Unless, of course, he was new. But did new guys get that kind of respect from their peers?

It isn’t as though I had never been looked at by someone before. I was used to it and it certainly never bothered me to be checked out. I understood that it was human. Attraction was inevitable, be it positive or negative.

What bothered me was that nobody had ever looked at me like _that_ \- the way _he_ did.

He looked at me as though he had found exactly what he was looking for - like a diamond-eyed thief who had finally hit the ultimate jackpot. I was unnerved; unable to decipher what was running through this stranger’s head.

It isn’t like I was new to the concept of a relationship either. I intentionally avoided them, knowing that love was fleeting and I was better off keeping my heart to myself to eliminate the chances of it being broken. Giving it away couldn’t possibly have any positive outcomes. I also didn’t want to be responsible with anyone else’s heart, holding fast to the knowledge that I would probably break them before they broke me. That, of course, didn’t eliminate my sex drive. I am a human being, after all.

Throughout my young life, I’d had a healthy number of hookups. I never overindulged myself; however, it wasn’t nonexistent either. I’m not, by any means, a “slut.” In fact, while keeping myself emotionally disconnected, I continued to have standards for the people I slept with. While I knew I preferred men, I had been with a couple of women if only to get my rocks off. I mean, that’s what they all were to me anyway… Male or female. It was just about fulfilling desire.

Unfortunately, most of them had been my foster siblings and whenever it happened, I tended to leave the home soon after. The reasons varied here, too. Sometimes, I felt my partner become too attached after a rendezvous. Other times, I simply avoided them altogether for one reason or another.

The first time I had sex was with the son of one of my foster parents. It was nothing particularly life-changing. It was a simple, purely physical attraction, allowing for one thing to lead to another. He had been visiting his parents while on break from an out-of-state university. Thanksgiving weekend, I think it was. On his last night in town, the both of us shared a few drinks and he made me promise not to rat him out for letting me have bourbon. I kept that promise and my reward was an invitation to his bedroom.

He was twenty-two. I was close to fifteen. It shouldn't have happened.

I know for a fact we had looked hungrily at each other. It wasn’t one-sided, but any emotional attachment wasn’t there either. I didn’t care about him. The way his parents often doted on him made me somewhat ill and they had no idea that he had a preference for guys. That’s what he told me before making me swear not to tell them - that he was gay, but his proud, Christ-loving parents couldn’t know yet. I didn’t care to tell them myself. Mostly, I wanted to taint him. I wanted him to feel filthy at the end of it. I wanted to make him feel like ten years of showers couldn’t wash away what he’d done, but at the end of it all, it was as if nothing had happened. His parents continued to dote, unaware of his secret, and I switched living arrangements soon after.

Three years later, this experience was completely different. I recognized that the blond in the police station was aesthetically pleasing to my eyes; however, I wanted nothing to do with him if it didn’t involve punching him in the mouth. My stomach churned thinking about his smile in combination with predatory eyes. The look he gave me was borderline condescending as it nearly devoured me whole. I wasn’t even sure if this man saw me as a human being or another pathetic criminal to sweep off the streets. I despised that. As my own man, I couldn’t stand to be compared to anyone else. Ever.

What did I have to do to eliminate him from my thoughts? I knew, with my bad habits, there was a chance I would see him again, making me wonder if I’d be able to hold myself back from making a risky move if he were to look at me that way again.

I found myself intentionally staying out of potential fights too. There had been more than a few instances to set me the fuck off, but more often than not, I found myself holding back because I didn’t want to find myself anywhere near the precinct. It had nothing to do with what Mike had told me about not getting lucky. I didn’t want to get unlucky and see that other man again. So I controlled myself better than I ever had before. No matter who pissed me off at work or at the corner store or in the park, I kept my head down low and stayed the hell out of trouble. There was no way I was going to let myself run into that shitty face again. I would find a way to move towns eventually, guaranteeing that I wouldn’t have to. I just hated that the blond officer was the reason why I held myself back. He was changing me without ever having said a single word to me.

I probably looked sketchy as fuck with the way I was constantly looking over my shoulder. The anxiety of it all was leaving me with intense nightmares, too. Every morning, I’d awake in a cold sweat from these insane dreams that giant, human-like creatures, often resembling people I’d fought in the past, were snatching helpless people off the ground and devouring them. And every time - every fucking time - I would turn around to escape the madness and there he was. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Grinning from ear to ear as blood dripped from a severed arm into a pile of disconnected body parts. And every time, before I could yell at him to leave me the fuck alone, I would wake up sweating, trembling, and cold.

For those several weeks, I found myself in the shower at six in the morning, after only two or three hours of sleep at best, desperately trying to calm myself down.

Thoughts of him were giving me anxiety attacks and I had no idea why.

“Don’t fucking think about it, idiot,” I would curse myself with a steaming hot jet of water beating down on my back.

The hotter, the better. I didn’t care if it cooked my skin. I simply held to the ridiculous hope that the stream would wash him out of my mind. Thinking about it now, it was a stupid hope to have. Truly.

Working my ass off was the only thing I could do that appeared to help, even if it wasn’t by much. I could put my entire being into scrubbing sharpie off the bathroom stalls and not have to think about that face quite so intensely. Instead, I’d put my upset into completing the tasks I had assigned to me. If anything, I was more efficient.

I also felt safe at work. Unless someone started a huge scene, I didn’t worry about cops showing up at a strip club and, even if they did, I spent so much time cleaning and stocking that I could avoid them easily by slipping quietly out the back door. It was a tactic I was assigned with when I was hired, given that I shouldn’t have been working there anyway.

I hoped it wouldn’t come down to that. I might have been working under the table, but it wasn’t that sketchy of a place. Every employee was an honest worker, working for honest pay. Nobody held onto a criminal background and, with me as the only exception, none of the dancers, bartenders, or bouncers ever seemed to get into any trouble.

I could feel safe, trusting that nobody would ever bring us into a situation in which the police would show up. I could go to work and not have to look over my shoulder eighty percent of my shift.

It was out in public or in my sleep that I was my most wary.


	4. Not Playing These Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaahh. i haven't had the willpower to make any decent writing happen all week.  
> i hope you guys like this.
> 
> we're about to really get it going.

“Hey, Levi, can you come here for a second?”

Looking up at my co-worker, I finished tying off a bag of recycling and headed his way. He was crouched in front of the beer taps with his eyebrows knitted together. For a moment, he continued to silently stare and I wondered if he had been drinking on the job.

“Dita? Did you need something?” I asked, beginning to lose my patience.

Most likely having noticed that I wasn’t equipped with the right temperament, the middle-aged bartender straightened himself out and finally gained focus. “Ah? Oh! Sorry. After you take out the recycling, can you go down to the basement and get me another keg of the IPA?”

Irritably, I folded my arms and huffed. “Another one already? I just refilled it.”

“I know, I know. At least we’re makin’ a little money off it, though. It’s those guys over there,” the distressed bartender nodded over to a group of rowdy, obviously intoxicated, idiots who were howling and chanting and drooling over one of the new girls as she twisted her body around a pole.

“Those idiots emptied a keg already?” I scoffed, scowling at what filthy animals they were making themselves out to be. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Yeah. Don’t ask me how. I couldn’t tell ya. At first I thought the hose was broken, but this thing is empty already.”

“Hopefully they pay their tab,” I said, glaring at the group.

“Fortunately, they’re paying in cash,” Dita breathed a sigh of relief, “But their tips have been pretty terrible. Hopefully Miss Magnolia, over there, is doing better than we are.”

There were five of them. Big fucking meatheads with too much muscle and too much confidence. I wondered if all that working out was burning off more brain cells than calories or if they’d traded their dignity for steroids and tiny dicks.

Where the hell was their class?

From the looks of it, the girl dancing for them wasn’t exactly having the best night of her life and was probably more fed up with them than I was. Understandably so. I was just a barback. She was the stripper who had to sell herself to these people. Every so often, one of them would sneak a hand up her thigh and grab her ass and their perverse comments were no better. She was becoming increasingly agitated, but being a newcomer to this risque club lifestyle, she suppressed her discomfort in order not to cause a scene. I hated it. I hated watching the pleading look in her eyes for them to stop and my anger was reaching a boiling point.

A “no touching” policy was clearly labeled in several places around the strip club. Every club had them. I don’t think these men were oblivious to that. Still, they persisted.

“Levi…” Dita broke my focus. “They’ve already been warned… twice, actually.”

“And they clearly didn’t fucking knock it off, did they?” I noticed then that I was clenching my fists and subconsciously holding myself back from unleashing my ire onto these assholes.

After my recent arrest, I definitely didn’t need to start a fight with these guys, even if what they were doing was getting on my last nerve. They weren’t directly hurting me. It wasn’t necessarily my business; however, I worked in that club just like Miss Magnolia did, and I had to put up with it too. It was making me physically ill and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could allow it to go on.

Simple warnings weren’t enough for these types of simple-minded people. Sometimes, lessons needed to be learned in order to obtain the desired results. I knew I had a good enough mouth on me to shut them down verbally; though, I know Dita was aware of my bad reputation with fighting and I could see the concern on his face with my insistence.

“I work here, too, don’t I?” I glowered at the bartender. “I shouldn’t have to be subjected to this bullshit.”

“I suppose that’s true… but-”

Suddenly, the girl couldn’t take anymore harassment and let out a pleading screech while the meathead assholes continued to holler and laugh. It only riled them up more to make her suffer.

They were the worst kind of people I could have to put up with; the absolute worst. They were type of pricks who fed on the fear and loathing of others. To make someone suffer, as if it were their artform, was their idea of fun.

Greed like that makes me sick. I couldn’t stand to watch them devour her.

I’d had more than enough of this shit.

“I’m going to stop them,” I announced.

Dita stared at me with dread. “You don’t-”

“I _do_. It’s a slow night. We’re too short on security. If I don’t, who will?”

“Careful, kid… You don’t know what guys like that’ll do to you.”

“Tch. I have an idea.”

Always having been smaller than the average man, I didn’t care at the time how much bigger they were than me. I had been in my fair share of fights with some pretty titanic assholes and won them all. Nothing scared me about them and if I didn’t do something quickly, the young woman dancing to make ends meet would be out on the street faster than I was when I left foster care. I couldn’t let that happen to her. I’d rather it was me who took the fall. She had more to lose.

Marching over to them, I stood behind the nuisances for a moment with my arms crossed. They were as loud as ever while tears began to line Miss Magnolia’s eyes.

I cleared my throat and with an audible “excuse me” I turned their focus away from the suffering girl.

All of them - obliterated - stared at me with a blend of incredulousness and serious offense. Like, how dare I interrupt their night of fun.

“The hell do you want, shrimp?” one of the guys smirked proudly at his weak insult. As if I hadn’t heard a short joke before.

“I would watch your fucking mouth if I were you,” I leered, slapping his stupid grin away with a cold glare.

A couple of them began to chuckle, muttering things like “Oh, man. We’re in trouble,” and “This shorty’s a buzzkill.”

Their reactions only served to make me all the angrier and before I knew it, I was running my mouth. “I’m sure you morons aren’t so oblivious that you didn’t notice our ‘no touching’ policy, but from what I have seen today, maybe you herd of farm animals can’t read.”

“What the-” one of the idiots opened his mouth to retort, but I was quick to shut him down.

“Miss Magnolia, here, is a clear example of our policy. Our dancers are not your playthings. They are providing to you a service, but they are still human beings. And since you clearly lack the etiquette of respecting her personal space - despite how much she’s already offering to you - I’m going to not so kindly ask you to get the fuck out.”

“Eh?! What the hell, man. We are paying customers,” another shouted. “We're  _paying_  for _her_!”

“Okay? So fucking pay her. You’ve had your fun. Pay and leave.”

“What’s a midget like you gonna do about it if we don’t?”

“Heh,” I couldn’t help but crack a sinister grin, along with my knuckles. “Do you think I’m in this position because I lack what it takes to deal with pricks like you? Adequately pay my friend for her time and leave before I show you what I did to get this job.”

“Have it your way,” one of them finally relented with a snarl.

“I usually do.”

Throwing money onto the table, the alpha of their short dick pack, lead the others out of the club without further incident. He mumbled a stream of curses to his idiot friends on their way out, but I paid no mind. I was more concerned for the girl in front of me.

Quickly enough, my rage subsided for the moment. I can’t say it was completely gone, but I was doing my best to put the victim first. Not to mention, I felt a slight swell of pride when I managed to avoid getting violent.

“Isabel. Are you alright?” I asked, helping her down from the table by offering her a hand.

“I- I’m fine,” she insisted stubbornly, carefully balancing herself on her plastic platform heels. She towered over me in them, but was only an inch or two taller than me regularly. Her rich red velvet hair brought out the varying green pigments in her large, round eyes. She looked so innocent; not at all what one might expect to find in a stripclub. Perhaps that’s what made her so popular. She was fresh into the game, but customers loved her. She was adorable and her body was tight in all the right places; soft in the others. “It just started getting to be a little too much for me…”

“Maybe you should find yourself a new line of work,” I told her earnestly. Perhaps a real modeling career or, hell, even a cocktail waitress position would have suited her better. But not this. “I know you’re tough enough, but I’m not sure this is the job for you if you can’t tell scum like that to fuck off.”

“I know… I wanted to tell them off, but my rent is due in three days… I can’t risk losing customers...”

“I see. I understand.” I could empathize. She lived in a building two blocks from the tiny, one-bedroom apartment I’d finally saved enough to start renting and I hardly had anything. I had shelter. And that was all I could ask for. But sometimes, the money from working at a strip club wasn’t enough to pay all the bills - especially given that I wasn’t a stripper and I wasn’t about to sell my body to a bunch of filthy animals for more money. My pride wouldn’t let me.

“I’m not smart enough for anything else,” she frowned, “I know there are probably other jobs I can do, but this one is the easiest for the best pay… It’s my fault for not staying in school, but…”

“No. It’s fine. I get it,” I reassured her, “I only just graduated high school last month, you know? But college definitely isn’t in my future.”

“What? Really?” she looked surprised, “I didn’t even get that far… Dropped out at sixteen… started here as soon as I turned eighteen…”

“Ah. So recently then?”

She nodded.

“That’s okay. We’re still young. We have time to get our shit figured out.”

“Thank you… Levi…”

“But if you’re not going to find a better line of work, be fucking smarter next time, okay? I’m not always going to be around to save your dumb ass from guys like that.”

With a curt nod, Isabel recoiled, biting her lip bashfully before heading toward the club’s dressing rooms.

As quickly as I had shown her some semblance of kindness, I returned to my regular, cold ways. While I couldn’t help but feel protective over her, I had no desire to get attached on any level. She was sweet and, for the most part, resilient; however, I didn’t want to get to know her. I didn’t want to find myself any more responsible for her than I just had.

Instead, I turned around and went right back to work, grateful that the annoyance, which had just disturbed the evening, was taken care of without further incident.

Isabel returned to work twenty minutes later to entertain a much more polite pair of gentlemen. Dita started getting decent tips. And with the arrival of more security for our girls, I found time to rearrange the storage room from top to bottom, organizing the liquor bottles by type and lining them up alphabetically.

 

 


	5. Not Fucking Dealing With This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaahhh!! Sorry for the lacking updates. I started an internship and I should REALLY be drawing rather than writing. Also, Anime Expo is just around the corner and oh gosh. I don't know if I'm ready.
> 
> Please enjoy this next chapter! As much as you can at least...

Three o’clock in the morning rolled in slowly. By the time it arrived, I was more than ready for a hot shower and my clean bed.

Looking around the bar, I decided it best to double check my cleaning job to make sure everything was tip top. I contained a passionate loathing for opening the place up and finding that I, or Dita, or anyone at all, had forgotten to clean something obvious and for that I made it a point to give the place a thorough once-over.

“Levi, head home. This place looks great,” the bartender called to me as he headed for the door.

Without turning to look at him, I continued my inspection. “I just want to make sure. I don’t need to arrive to another sticky stain on the carpet. Or worse - an exploded keg.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he groaned sleepily.

“Is to me,” I muttered under my breath before calling out to him. He wouldn’t have understood. “No need to wait up. I’ll make sure the alarm is set and everything is locked up as soon as I’m done.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna leave you alone here in the middle of the night. You know how dangerous this part of town can be.”

Turning toward him, I offered him nothing beyond a deadpan stare.

Slowly, an expression of realization crept onto his face as he remembered where I had come from and where I lived and how many petty fights I had landed myself in. “Ah… I guess with you, there’s really no need to worry, huh? Alright, alright. Thank you for your hard work today, Levi. Get home safe.”

“Same to you, Dita,” I nodded before turning back to my inspection.

The man left with a wave and a “See you tomorrow” and I found myself the last person left in the club. All the dancers had gone home about fifteen minutes after closing. Our money-loving owner, Reeves, had been busy opening up another club in the art district. And the two bouncers on duty had to make sure all of the girls got home safely.

This certainly wasn’t the first time I’d been alone in the place. When I started the job, I’d insist on double-checking everything. Even triple-checking if it was a busy night. At first, the more seasoned employees were afraid to leave me by myself for fear that I’d do something shitty, like steal liquor or break into the safe. After a while, they caught onto the fact that I’d probably eat glass before doing something stupid like that. I was reckless, but I had a good handle on obeying authority. So, instead of waiting around while I disinfected every damn surface, I was eventually handed a key and the alarm code. Some nights, staying until four or five in the morning wasn’t at all surprising, but the place would be sparkling by the end of it.

Fortunately, this night - save for that distasteful incident - had been slow, which I had come to expect from Wednesdays. I had been able to complete a large portion of my cleaning while we were still open and nothing was sticking out to me.

As my bones creaked beneath the weight of my own exhaustion, I found myself satisfied by a job well done.

Locking up properly, I pocketed my keys and stepped into the streets. The early summer air was perfect on my skin in the early morning. A light breeze pushed it up beneath my shirt and caressed my arms. I wanted to drift away with it; become one with the wind and let it carry me off somewhere new.

Neither cold nor hot, I soaked it all in, loving the time of year when the weather offered warm days and cool nights. It relaxed me and I chose to add to the bliss by lighting myself a well-earned cigarette. Closing my eyes, I wondered what I would have to do to melt into the smoke swirling around in my lungs; burning me from the inside out.

The nicotine infused into my blood, making my head light. Clarity, which had been lost on me for some time, filtered back in, eliminating all of the stressful encounters I had recently faced.

As I began my walk home, I indulged myself with thoughts of sleeping with my window open and turning off the air in my apartment. Maybe the breeze couldn’t carry me away, but I was allowed to find comfort in a dream. More importantly, I could save a handful of money while enjoying the weather. Even though the city air wasn’t exactly what I would consider clean, I felt it would be nice to air out my living space and eliminate some of the stuffiness of breathing in the same stale shit all the time.

With these simple ideas dancing around in my head and a cigarette between my lips, I had let my guard down in no time.

My mind could wander for a bit. It would do me some good to disconnect myself from my head.

Paranoia left me, taking my irritability with it. For the first time in my eighteen years, I wondered if I was experiencing true relaxation. I loved it. If life could have continued on like that for an eternity, I would not have minded. I could have walked along like that until sunrise. I could have carried myself away to the very ends of the earth and I probably would have laughed while dancing on the horizon. I knew right away that it was the sensation that I was searching for. I needed to make it last and last forever.

A quiet night and a cool breeze were all it took to chill me out. All the same, nothing lasts forever. As I walked along, minding my own business, my inner peace was short-lived.

“Yo. Look. It’s that kid!” the voice behind me barely registered as I tried to process - and keep connect to - my alien feelings.

The streets weren’t completely dead in the heart of Boston, after all. I rapidly rationalized that the voice could have been talking about anyone, including posters in shop windows and twenty-four hour food joints. However, I was faced with the vengeful realization that I was wrong when I noticed I was being followed and my peace of mind damn near shattered like bone china exploding on tiled floor.

I tried right away to keep my cool, ignoring a sharp chill racing down my spine. Walking along, I continued smoking my cigarette as if nothing suspicious was going on. Without turning around, I did my best to assess the situation. The footsteps coming from behind me quickened in pace, multiple pairs all headed in the same direction.

Soon, I figured out exactly what I was dealing with.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I asked, stopping in my tracks without turning around.

The positive energy I had been delighted in just moments before drained from my body. Warning signals flashed in my head and, while I hated to litter on the cobblestone, I dropped my cigarette, stamping it out with my foot in preparation for a fight.

My body was already aching. My muscles were sore from a long day of earning my keep. With my few moments of bliss ripped away, I wanted nothing more than to go home and was becoming increasingly angry that these assholes were impeding on that.

“Yeah. You owe us for earlier,” another voice answered back.

_I should have guessed…_

Clenching my fists, I slowly turned to face the group of dickbags I’d kicked out of the club. They were obviously still wasted and probably went to another bar or strip joint in the area. At least, that’s what I assumed when they stepped closer. I could smell the alcohol on them as the breeze pushed the rancid scent, a blend of rage and tequila, my way.

“And what, exactly, could I possibly owe to a bundle of shit for brains like you?” I challenged, fearlessly standing my ground.

I couldn’t let them win. I wouldn’t allow them to scare me. It didn’t matter how small I was or how many of them there were. Throughout my entire life, I had encountered shitty people. They were no different than the assholes I put up with in school or the abusive foster parents I’d run from.

“Entertainment, of course,” I was answered back by their pack leader as the five of them surrounded me. “After all that money we dropped on your little girlfriend, why don’t you show us how a puny punk like you dances.”

_God fucking damn it._

With the five of them closing in on me, I was running out of options and I was in a position where I couldn’t run away. If I ran home, they’d have followed me and learned where I lived. It wouldn’t be safe, even if I barricaded myself inside for a week. If I made a dash for the club, I wouldn’t get through the locks before they caught up. And even if I had friends, I couldn’t endanger them by running to their homes. So, with no other choice, I accepted that I set myself up for trouble and defended myself to the best of my abilities.

With one fluid motion, I headbutted the douchebag in charge, driving my head directly into his nose. I heard it crack, feeling the damage reverberate against my forehead before offering him a knee in the groin. His friends’ shock as he collapsed to the pavement with a weak grunt gave me enough time to elbow another one hard enough in the ribs that I could make a run for it, but I couldn’t do it.

A voice in the back of my head was screaming at me to get the fuck out of there, but I couldn’t will myself to back down. Whoever I was in those moments needed to keep fighting. He needed to make a fucking point - whatever it was. A switch flipped, turning me into an irrational machine blinded by rage.

While two were down, another two lunged at me. I ducked out of the way, avoiding a fist that very well could have broken my neck and somehow managed to trip the other, decking him square in the mouth on his way down. However, I had not forgotten my own exhaustion and noticed that, on top of being slow, every time I got one of them down, another one had already gotten himself up. My heart began to beat erratically, slamming itself against my ribcage as if it were begging me to stop. Still, I willed myself to keep going in hopes that at any second, Mike - or any other cop for that matter - would round the corner in their patrol car and break up the fighting.

It was the first time in my life that I can recall _wanting_ to be rescued. Usually, I was far too independent and fast-acting to acknowledge that I was outnumbered. I had always managed to pull through before.

I was used to one-on-three fights here and there, though even I acknowledged that five-on-one was ridiculous and that a little help was warranted on my part.

But help never arrived.

With my body reaching its limits, the world surrounding me slowed down, but my head couldn’t keep up. Dizzy, I bent my body, positioning myself to land a solid punch and threw my arm at the target as hard as I could, yet made no such contact. Instead, a searing pain shot from my shoulder to my fingertips while, out of the corner of my eye, I watched a fist come hurdling in my direction. The impact send me crashing into the nearest wall with the back of my head bouncing off the brick.

Thoroughly out of both breath and strength, I slumped to the pavement with a thick taste of iron filling my mouth. Though my vision was spotty, I could make out the ugly faces of my aggressors. Seeing them so pissed off with their busted lips and broken noses had me smiling to myself until the black spots freckling my vision continued to grow and grow and grow until darkness took me into its mouth and swallowed me whole.


End file.
